


In the Palm of Your Hand

by ciara_jane



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-07 22:11:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11632965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ciara_jane/pseuds/ciara_jane
Summary: Turnabout is fair play, but the Doctor doesn't quite expect this.





	In the Palm of Your Hand

**Author's Note:**

> This is a surprise for a dear friend, the lovely Fleur. I hope she enjoys this.

“Rose, I’m not…” He stopped mid-sentence; Rose standing a few feet away with a mixing bowl in hand, the vivid red handle of a rubber spatula poking out from it. “Rose, this is probably not the best place to try eating… whatever that is.” He motioned at the bowl, wondering for not the first time why she had such a bowl, why she had such a bowl in this hallway of all places, and why she had a few streaks of light powder on her shirt. “Should I take that until… until…”

Rose’s lips quirked immediately. “Yes, Doctor?”

“How many bananas are in there?” he asked, trying not to be too obvious. His face lit up entirely too excitedly, breaking the ruse of casual interest. 

She clicked her tongue, trying not to laugh. “Six, I think,” she replied, giving the still soft-set pudding another stir before turning her back, walking toward a door. “Still needs to set, Doctor.”

Before her chosen door opened, the Doctor stood behind her, inches from her, taking in a deep lungful of banana-Rose-scented air. “How long to set?”

“Have you no patience?” Rose asked, keeping her tone as neutral as she could; the faint gust of his breath against her neck nearly broke her resolve. She bit her lip for a moment to gather her wits, and passed through the door. “You’ll just have to wait.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes as they entered the kitchen; Rose popped the bowl onto a counter while quickly washing the dishes; a yellow liquid soap sent several small bubbles floating into the air as Rose worked quickly. “’s there a reason you’re doing the washing up?”

She didn’t respond; instead, knowing the Doctor would kindly be patient until she allowed him near the bowl (but not without a few snarky comments), Rose finished and set the dishes to dry, and (after what felt like an eternity) moved to circle round the taller man. “You already know the answer to that, Doctor,” she replied, poking his leather-covered arm every few words, tossing a few stray strands of hair out of her eyes.

A huff-snort. 

“Humour me, would you?” The smirk on her face rivalled his own broad grin. “G’wan, sit down over at the table.” She prodded his shoulder, and he gave another huff, this one more for show, as he trudged across the small room and seated himself on one of the wooden chairs, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it over the back. “Be there in just a mo’.”

“Don’t let it get warm, y’know.”

“It won’t.” Rose popped her head into the refrigerator, taking out a few things, and putting the bowl of bananas and something in their place. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“Oh, got it all under control have you?”

As Rose whipped up some heavy cream, she raised the rubber spatula at him. “Cheeky. Keep it up and you’re getting none of this!”

He grinned. “You wouldn’t. I know you well enough.”

“That’s it.” Rose turned away, retrieving the bowl from the refrigerator and pouring the now whipped cream on top of the mixture in the bowl. Giving him a charming smile, the picture of innocence, Rose crossed the small space and settled in the chair beside the Doctor, still keeping the bowl just out of his reach. Perhaps, more accurately, out of reach of his well-practised restraint. She rewarded him with a fingertip-scoop of cream, painting his lips. Rose felt his lips tremble, felt him fighting the urge to lick his lips, to draw her fingertip into his mouth and suck the cream from every loop and whorl. She withdrew her finger. “Fresh cream.”

“Mmhmm,” he managed, finally getting the go-ahead from her to lick it up. “Delicious. When do I get the pudding?”

Rose raised an eyebrow. “Your impatience might get the better of you.”

“Right.” The Doctor took a deep breath. “Sorry.”

“Good. Remember your place right now.” Rose reached out, “Now. Hand.”

“You don’t know where it’s been.”

Rose stared in disbelief. “Since it was in my knickers thirty minutes ago? How much trouble’ve you gotten into in half an hour?”

He returned her look of shocked confusion before smirking.

“Oh, you, that’ll cost you. Hand!” She didn’t wait to finish her word before grabbing his left hand, the closer of the two. Rose managed a discrete sniff of his hand; she was fairly sure it was a faint swirl of hand soap and her own scent, but otherwise it was clean. Settling the bowl of pudding and whipped cream on her lap, Rose slid his hand into part of the bowl, thoroughly coating his hand in banana pudding, a ring of cream along the heel up to his wrist. 

His hand jerked slightly at the cool pudding. “Oi… How’d’you keep it so cold?”

“Tyler family secret. Stop twitching.”

“Yes Rooooooose,” he drawled in an over-exaggerated accent, as his hand fell motionless. _A bit sticky, this’ll be._

Rose merely batted her eyes, pupils dilating just slightly more as their eyes locked and her tongue tip flicked at the bend of his wrist, barely dodging a nose-painting swipe of pudding. Her tongue continued through the dessert, tracing his life line across the palm.

She watched him swallow hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing; as Rose lapped at his palm she absently noticed his right hand balling up just past her view, evidenced only by the tightening of the muscles of his forearm. _Good, Doctor._

_And I’m the cheeky one?_ He shot her a look, one that crushed his composure, as she slid his littlest finger between her lips, tongue teasing every bend and curve of his finger. _That’s not playing fair._

_Never said I was, but this is mine, and you fully agreed,_ she reminded. She’d grown to rather enjoy the limited-range telepathy they shared – even if it still needed some work. Line-of-sight and touch enhanced it. Well, as long as he would concentrate, Rose smirked, and she slid his finger past her lips before taking in both his middle and index fingers at once. 

\--

_Rose,_ he mentally whined – though he’d deny it later – as his toes curled in his boots, his right hand clenched tighter with fingernails digging into the skin. She’d been a tease all day, but this was too much. Her cherry-pink lips tight around his fingers in simulation of what he hoped – _knew_ – would happen later, the Doctor fought the base instincts his lover drew out. 

And she ignored him! After all he’d done for her! Especially this morning, waking her up, as he’d promised, with his head between her thighs, a running commentary of his desire as he drove his tongue inside of her, Rose’s hands tugging at his short hair, using his ears to keep him just where she wanted him! Sure he’d sort of agreed to this, though he wouldn’t admit it to her – she probably already knew, Rose, clever woman. 

Rose, he tried, but she merely shook her head, sucking with hunger. _Greedy._

_Believe you’ve called me that before,_ she teased, letting his fingers drop from her lips as she then hastily licked the remainder from his hand. The Doctor barely moved the bowl from her lap to the table in time as Rose moved, straddling his lap, sharing a dollop of the pudding as she kissed him, her nails almost digging into her neck as the Doctor tasted her desire. _Want. Now._ Rose cupped his face as the kiss broke, catching her breath. 

“Not in here,” he breathed against her lips, “too messy last time.”

“Fine, spoilsport,” Rose managed, as he lifted his sticky hand to his lips, tongue tasting banana, cream, and Rose; as his fingers brushed his lips, she whined. “Not fair.”

“Turnabout, fair play. Up with you,” the Doctor replied against his fingers, a flash of white teeth nipping at a fingertip. Rose stumbled to stand, and he rose, almost stalking toward her as he walked toward the door. “Our room. Thirty seconds.”

“Or?”

“One swat for every second late sounds fair. Go.”

He could only grin as the young woman shucked her shirt at him, calling down the hallway that “Perhaps it’s you getting one swat, Doctor?”

“Fantastic.”


End file.
